


Nothing Lasts Forever

by discostew



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Incest, Mordred having a think basically, References to Depression, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 17:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14337783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discostew/pseuds/discostew
Summary: Take courage-now there's a sportAn invitation to the state of rigor mort.Mordred's evening reflections on his general state of life and friendships, and what is going on in Camelot.





	Nothing Lasts Forever

Mordred would sit on the steps in some rather empty room of the Castle of Camelot- perhaps it was the throne room, perhaps it was the small meeting hall the servants used, perhaps it was to be the steps in his own Quarters?- he wasn't too bothered about where he was.  
It was late evening, the world was becoming black and grey. None were wandering the castle save the King (who was  _very_ unlikely to be anywhere except drinking the hours away with his 'Dearest Queen') and a few stray servants clearing the mess from the tables and preparing their own suppers.

What time and place could be more ideal for a little think? Perhaps none. 

At first, his thoughts would be occupied with his little fantasy of catching the Queen and her lover that the Table admired so. He would catch them in the act of going beyond the courtly love that was traditional and within Arthur's jurisdiction, and easily he could accuse them of many things; adultery and treason, just to name two. Arthur wouldn't a choice but to act upon it. Justice would be served. Arthur would pay and Lancelot would pay. Guinevere was just an added treat. She'd done no wrong to him in the long run, so it didn't concern him. Perhaps her rampant accusations and hatred against him could be a reason he needed justice against the Queen as well, but to Arthur that was all water off of a duck's back. He never listened, so it didn't  _really_ hurt Mordred. The King knew fully well he couldn't act upon Mordred or his behavior, and considering Arthur's character he would even make (overall futile) attempts to form a bond with him. It was almost diplomatic immunity.

Mordred hadn't hoped for anybody's death, or anyone to even be miserable. He just wanted a place in the court of his Father, unfortunately, his 'mixed up' lineage made him a bit too ..  _pure-blooded_  a memberof the family line to be fully accepted by Arthur as his 'son', which Mordred did, in fact, consider himself, even if it _was_ mostly out of spite. The Liege Lord of Orkney is where his naming was from, yes, but that came more from his Mother than Lot being his Father. And even his Mother was a sticky issue. The only definite thing Mordred knew was  **Arthur** was his Father, and the other Orkney boys were his Brothers, but past that he was rather clueless as what they claimed his real lineage to be seemed to have shifted around his entire life. Indeed, with Arthur being his only real definite, the King would be who he considered his  ** _paterfamilias._**

But, yes. At first, he had just wanted a place in the court. His eventual usurping of the throne as per his 'Mother's' request would be a side issue. Despite his saying phooey to many things considered good qualities in a Knight of the Table round, he did genuinely want to prove himself- at least in combat. He wasn't the biggest, but he had muscle mass and was strong enough. Could easily take down many. 

That mindset drifted away quite quickly though, as he found a friend or two, got into contact with his Brothers again, and a found a disdain for many of the ways his Father ruled. Even all that was a side issue for that right now, though.

So then, what was Mordred's real gripe with Arthur at the current time, and Lancelot?

The Round Table was cracking, you could practically hear the timbers split. As a result of all the rising political tensions (Mordred's presence in Camelot being somewhat of a factor in that), the lack of anything to do, the  _slight_ famine that was beginning to make rounds, his 'Mother's' presence in the court on occasion, and Sir Lancelot being not-as-present considering his own bastard child had popped up to overtake him as the so-called 'Greatest Knight'. Arthur had sent off the 'destined knights' to search for the _Holy Grail-_ some Christian drivel. Mordred didn't much fall for it, having been raised 'Pagan'. He'd put his knowledge of reading and writing to use and flipped through a couple of Bibles in his years, and not understood the appeal of a single piece. It was a wild goose chase, one that had taken his Beloved Galahad from him. That was the problem. That was the incentive to punish Arthur and Lancelot.

Arthur had sent Galahad (along with Sir Percival and Sir Bors the Younger) out on the quest, Lancelot had pushed him onto it (along to many other utterly stupid ideals, and probably decimated whatever level of self Galahad had left).  
Mordred shifted from his place, and stood to pace the room, and then he tired of his surroundings and walked into the hallway to pace there.

"Poor soul," he muttered "Didn't even get a chance to live. Maybe for the best, so not to have to deal with the climate, the political.. climate." He thought he heard a noise, and turned quickly. Just a door opening. Perhaps he should return to his quarters? Yes, he should. That he did. He sat on the raised up pile of soft hay and furs and 'blankets' that in Camelot was classed as the average bed, cross-legged. He was here not a few weeks ago with Galahad exhausted in his arms. Maybe he wouldn't be 'achieving the Grail' anymore, and it'd be Mordred's fault for convincing him to break his vows. He had told Galahad; " _But, you've only been told to not touch a **Woman,** what difference can it make if we..?"  _ which Mordred looked back on and sniggered at.  It wasn't about that, though. He loved Galahad. He loved him for who he was, but also found him a prime bolster for his hatred towards the sensibilities of his Father. Galahad had been raised being told he was born for virtually one purpose, which was to be so tremendously good and pure he could be compared to Jesus Christ (or, as to not be heretical, at least be someone that could be regarded as a Saint). Could  _never_ have an ounce of fun. The only writings or stories he knew were of the Bible. 'If he lost himself, he'd save himself', whatever that meant. Probably something about being close to God by losing any sense of identity and forsaking anything which was good or made himself happy, which Galahad (in Mordred's eyes) well had done by the time he'd been sent off. His questing companions, Percival and Bors, were far luckier, but still had their own tribulations to deal with. It made Mordred very, very angry.

He felt empty without Galahad around. He had a friend, they were both from similar situations, the main of which being they were both Bastards. Both weren't really entirely wanted. Galahad fascinated him and Mordred felt very much drawn to him-  _he wanted to help him, make sure he was happy_. That can't happen now. He was likely dead. Very likely dead- and considering how things are, if he wasn't dead, and came home, and was Grail-less, he and the other Grail Knights had a large chance of being burned at the stake and accused of general unholiness. That made Mordred even angrier. 

He laid back and sighed heavily, running his fingers over the fur of his travel cloak. It was a strange texture- his 'Mother' had made it for him out of a mixture of leather and rabbit fur and some other material he couldn't quite pinpoint but it was similar to what would be linen. It was quite precious to him, and more often than not served as a blanket. He thought momentarily of how comfortable he was, which made him think of Sir Lancelot- he was probably eating rich meats and drinking sweet wines, sitting by a warm fire up in _Joyeuse Garde,_ while his own son was probably trudging hungry through the rain right now. At least Arthur had the courtesy to make sure Mordred always had somewhere to rest this head and something to eat. Overall he was treated rather well by Arthur, but Lancelot barely paid any mind to Galahad save for if there was an opportunity to live a victory through him. 

He'd kill to have Galahad with him right now. To be back to awkwardly trying to teach him to write, to eating together, to desperately hiding their relationship from their Fathers and general family. He'd even go through one of Galahad's attempts to set himself on fire because he wasn't 'pure enough' in his eyes or God's eyes or whatever drivel it was that was in his head. In a way, Mordred envied him- was jealous, wanted to be him. All of that. Galahad was genuinely good and enjoyed being such. An excellent, chivalrous man, and an example to all the other Knights (even if they did mostly despise him for this reason). Mordred  _wished_ he could wrap his head around all of it. He wasn't interested in much except benefiting himself, it was just how he was raised. Always caked in golden jewellery, purple clothing, raised around magic and all that sort of dark deals. Mordred felt he was too much of a, how to say, a recreation of his Mother, most of the time. It hurt his heart to thnk of Galahad too much at this time, so he chose not to.

He stood again, and went to return to his previous spot- where who should he see but his Father. He was sitting in his throne, the room lit by only one or two candles. Arthur was mumbling about Guinivere, and his love life. He knew of the relationship between her and Lancelot. Mordred did. Everyone did. All that was lacking was proof, but that was for another day. For now, Arthur moped, and Mordred watched him. Eventually though, Mordred broke the silence; 

"It seems to me a strange thing... mystifying, even, that a man of your stature can waste his years on a woman like that, Feder." 

Oh, did Arthur **_ever hate it_** when Mordred spoke Saxon words. Of course, Mordred _would_  just speak the Pictish he knew, which was more traditional for someone from Orkney, but none would understand save maybe his Brothers. He instead spoke what his Father spoke, the universal language that was just rising from a mix of some friendlier Saxon culture's languages, the language of the Britons, and Latin- with a tad of French. Lancelot often spoke French and never was a complaint raised against him, yet if one of the  _De Ganis_ family did it they were ridiculed. It just showed the favour towards Lance, he supposed. Nothing to be done about that. Mordred only spoke the Saxon words to annoy his Father. 'Feder', and things of that sort.

"Mordred, good evening." Arthur replied, stroking his beard in thought. 

Mordred began to pace again, hands behind back, eyes on the King. "You know, I don't quite agree with the bulk of your ruling tactics, I think we should have a talk one of these days."

"That's good, Mordred."

"You're too lost in thought to even give a moment to listen to what I have to say! You say I'm unchivalrous, when I clearly have more etiquette than you. You're thinking about the Queen, aren't you? Were you not in your chamber a moment ago? Did you argue?"  
  
"Do you ever regret something so deeply it keeps you up at night, Son?"

That stopped Mordred in his tracks, and he pulled a confused face. Did he regret anything? He hadn't thought nearly enough about his own actions to come to a decision like that one. "No-"..... That's very wrong. "I mean, maybe so. Why are you asking me?" He stepped close to Arthur, and Arthur shoved himself backward on reflex. 

"No reason, I've just been thinking tonight. You're a good boy, Mordred. Maybe not... good as I'd like you to be, but you're by no means.. evil, I don't think. Are you evil? I believe that's down to what you think, right?"  
".. I'm not evil, I don't think I am, at least."

"Alright, good."

Then the room was silent. Neither quite knew how to react to each other. Mordred, again, spoke up. "Why did you send Galahad away?"  
"To save the Kingdom."

"That's not an answer."

"Then, I haven't one. Why do you not just retire for the night, Mordred? I'm quite sure it's nearly dawn- shame Merlin isn't here, he would be able to know. That man knew many things."

"I'm sure my Mother knows just as much as he did. I'm not sleeping because I have been thinking. Simple as that."

"I see."  


Mordred could suddenly feel his heart hurt again. Maybe it  _would_ just be best if he went off to sleep. Perhaps. "I think I will retire, on second thought." And with that, he walked away before 'Goodnight' could be said. 

He went back to his bedding and laid back down in it, and closed his eyes, and attempted to think some more positive Galahad-related thoughts, and not try to imagine Galahad, Bors & Percival suffering greatly as they likely were. Or dead. He wanted to think of Galahad as alive and.. not dead. Happy. The rather optimistic man he knew not more than half a year ago. He loved him, truely. Even if many wouldn't approve of him loving him. Or Galahad loving anybody. He knew Galahad loved him back. He wished everything could be back to normal, but alas, that wasn't possible.

So, as he lay down to sleep, Mordred thought of what exactly he could do to right wrongs in Camelot done by him. 

Catch the Queen with Lancelot, perhaps? _Oh yes, that sounds a plan._

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Arthurian fic I've written. I hope it turned out well! I'm definitely planning on writing more of this sort of thing, especially on the Galahad/Mordred side of things. Thanks for reading!


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